She cut her thumbnails down to the quick,
making leverage for tearing scabs
nearly impossible, but still, she rubbed.
Didn't her daddy teach her just to rub,
not scratch, mosquito bites when they itched?
He never told her what to do when it burned,
when she wanted to peel her skin off,
pull her hair out, when the pain distracted
from everything. Then it was time for water.
Then she'd head to the river, she'd wait
for a flood if she had to, for rinsing her head,
to dunk her soul in, to cleanse, to wash the itch.
This is my response to last week's 100 Word Song at My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog, which was "Pain Lies On The Riverside" by Live.